My Wonder Years

  In My Wonder Years, author/poet Jeffrey Pipes Guice presents a moving collection of short stories, poems and photographs from growing up in the thrillingly time of sex, drinking and rock n’ roll.  Illustrating how we can never really escape our roots, Guice’s journey allowed him to see how searching for a place and a purpose allowed him the space for self-reflection and the ability to see the person he wanted to be. His enlightenment came and from there, a lifetime of self-discovery while striving to become the type of son, companion, father and friend he could be proud of. Guice describes his memoir as a cross between A Streetcar Named Desire and Confederacy of Dunces with a sprinkling of The Big Easy. Brimming with American nostalgia, My Wonder Years will surely resonate with anyone who’s ever struck out on their own to find themselves.

  I felt like I was living in two different worlds: my Warren Easton school life and then my after school and weekend life, not feeling completely all in one or the other. I enjoyed getting to know this new group of friends at school, good people like Wally Scott, Chris Pumilia, Sammy Toups, David Crain, Tommy Ezell, Ann Audler, Missy Dearing, Gladys Ortiz, Steve Longa, Janice Reimmuth, Angie Fontan, Oscar D’Souza, and so many others.  As I had been either suspended and/or expelled from my schools each year since sixth grade, I did my very best to make it through my senior year without a suspension. Unfortunately, with about five days left until the end of school, I decided to skip my 6th period Math class and head home early. As I was walking to my car, about two blocks from campus, I noticed the Warren Easton school bus driving carrying the track team and Coach Ken Martin, the track coach, who also happened to be the school’s disciplinarian. Coach Martin looked out the bus w...

  I still had my fake ID from East Jefferson High School, which said I was now 19 years old, so I applied for a weekend job as a bar back at Bruno‘s Tavern on Maple Street, the home of bartender legend, George Rankin, and second home to Fletcher, the police guard who protected Audubon Place residents. This was great news on so many levels. As one could imagine, I obviously couldn’t stand still just being a bar back, so eventually I assigned myself the job of bouncer and late night bartender while the other bartenders were taking a break. Again, as one could imagine, I immediately started letting in all of my Uptown friends that I had made through Walker and Bill, including Arthur Fort, Tony Benjamin, John Denegre, Max Hart, Danny Pick, Larkin Selman, and so many others. My drink of choice became the gin and tonic, with a wedge of lime, and since I was making them for myself, I immediately developed a pretty good habit of drinking five or six each night. It was either Walker or Lark...

  I loved going to Warren Easton. I remember my very first day, going straight to the gym and getting myself into a pick up basketball game with Kenny “Kid Funk” Moss and Kerry “Cooley High” Washington, two guys who happened to play on the school basketball team. We kept winning games together, as a team, and I felt really good playing with these guys. While they didn’t yet know my name, they kept calling me “Pistol Pete” because of my moves and jump shot. Yes, I still had it. We finally lost to Richard “Crip” Simms’ team. As we sat in the bleachers waiting to get back in, they asked me about my story and how I got to Easton, and so on.  As high school kids do, they ended up telling me about which of the cheerleaders they had slept with, etc., which led to a discussion/brag session about our favorite lines and moves that we were “known for” with the ladies. After many stories, some half truths and some hysterical lies, I ended up with the nickname “Peter the Eater” for the res...

  My love affair started early... Just a skinny sixteen year old boy... I was working at Stephen & Martin’s... I was willing, but acting somewhat coy... An old black oyster shucker... Mr. Carl was his name... “Boy, once you try one of these... Your life ain’t never gonna be da same!” Being coaxed on by the patrons... I stared at the meat on the half shell... “Suck her up, boy!” yelled Mr. Montgomery...  “She’ll be the first of many, I do tell!” Sitting cross legged next to Mr. Montgomery...  Sat his perfectly beautiful wife... She licked her lips and offered a wink... “This was going to be a special day in your life...” She picked up the shell from the marble top bar...  Held it gently between her thumb and finger... I could smell the scent of her exotic perfume...  My boyish thoughts were starting to linger... As everyone was now watching... I stared down at the gooey blob... I could feel my confidence growing...  As my head began to slowly bob... ...

  It was now the Fall of 1975… Eleventh grade started and I was back at East Jefferson, working on weekends and whenever. I was able to participate in the Louisiana Association of Student Council workshops, attend Junior Achievement meetings at an office located downtown in the CBD, and to sell programs, now at the new Louisiana Superdome, but I really had no personal direction while living out in Metairie. I don’t even remember giving my report cards, or my class pictures or any keepsakes to my mom for my School Days book, so I don’t even remember who my teachers were or what grades I received. On the bright side, I was getting invited to more Uptown parties and I hadn’t yet worn out my welcome with sleeping over at Stephen’s house, so I went Uptown as much as possible.  It was around this time that I met two important new friends, the first being Walker Boss, and the second being Bill Kearney, both of whom I met at one of the black tie social parties, where Deacon John was t...

  He was the very first friend I ever had...  He was the first kid I ever knew... We went to Holy Name together... We were in Cub Scouts together, too... Sometimes I would get his hand me downs...  He was a little older and bigger, you see...  But he was always like my brother... A wonderful friendship, Lil’ Ste and me... He taught me about the Packers... He knew everything there was to know about Bart Starr...  We both had a crush on pretty Shawn... But neither one of us got very far... I used to always sleep at his house... He could rhyme better than Muhammad Ali...  His parents would often host parties... We would sneak drinks, Lil’ Ste and me... We went to Sam Barthe Camp together... And watch the Saints lose almost every game...  Even though we went to different high schools...  Our friends were all one in the same... There wasn’t much we didn’t know about each other...  Sometimes we shared a girl or three... We would tell each other the...

  When I was a little boy... I always wanted a cool big brother...  Like the guys a few years above me...  The older boys from another mother... The ones who had that something extra...  The thing all the foxey girls wanted... The ones all the younger boys admired...  Those who handled life totally undaunted... The captains of all four sports...  The smartest guys in the class...  The ones who played in the bands...  Drank from pitchers, never a glass... Some had really cool cars... Some had Harleys full of chrome... Some were the yearbook editors... They got the girls without needing cologne... When you’re just a kid with heroes... The older guys who set the world on fire...  These were the big brothers I looked up to...  The older guys I grew to admire... So, even though you weren’t my real brothers...  I still considered each one of you a friend...  You’ll always be the coolest guys I knew...  From my childhood and to t...

  Ruth Grace Moulon, known as Ruthie the Duck Lady, was an American woman who was a notable figure in the French Quarter of New Orleans. She was often seen riding from bar to bar on roller skates wearing eccentric furs, drinking Budweiser and smoking Kool cigarettes while accompanied by a couple of ducks. A New Orleans native, she was born Ruth Grace Moulon on January 19, 1934. As a child, she and her brother raised ducks in their family’s Royal Street apartment. The ducks would follow young Ruthie everywhere, and her family began promoting her as “the Duck Girl” and charging people to take photos with her, as well as selling picture postcards of her image. Ruthie became a French Quarter fixture from the 1950s through the 1990s and was known for her moodiness, either speaking sweetly to passersby or mightily cursing them. She’d hit up friends and strangers for Budweiser beer (“for her duck”) and Kool cigarettes (“for later”). Ruthie became the subject of documentaries and a musical...

  The parades are startin’... The marchin’ bands sound great...  Quick, let’s grab a few more beers...  And start to celebrate... The marchin’ girls look pretty...  And even prettier with each beer...  The more I drink at Mardi Gras...  The prettier the girls get each year... It’s fun to drink a few beers... And to hang out at the bar... Good friend don’t let good friends...  Over do it at Mardi Gras... Here comes the king’s float... I want to catch a doubloon... I can’t catch nothin’ they’re throwin’...  Because I been drinkin’ all afternoon… The flambeau nation is rockin’...  The coconuts are a’plenty... But I’m unable to stand up...  Because I had just a few too many... It’s fun to drink a few beers... And to hang out at the bar... Good friend don’t let good friends...  Over do it at Mardi Gras... © 2022 Jeffrey Pipes Guice My Wonder Years: A Book

  Greauxing up in New Orleans... Was an experience unto itself... Seaux many saints and seaux many spirits... Seaux many bottles up on da shelf... We always enjoyed our cocktails...  We were always eauxpen for fun...  Our days never really got started...  Until the drinkin’ had finally begun... We drank bloodies threauxout da morning...  At Galatoire’s we drank da milk punch...  We never every really stopped at just one...  Our bill sheauxed we drank a bunch! But we always thanked the dear Lord... It’s somethin’ we all agree on and kneaux...  That when it’s time to geaux home at night...  We always pray to our St. Tougeaux... Hey dere, Mr. Bartender... Don’t leave us high and dry... Let’s have one meaux drink to St. Tougeaux...  Before we all say night night and good bye... © 2022 Jeffrey Pipes Guice My Wonder Years: A Book

  I remember when I was sixteen... Asked my dad if I could borrow his car... He said “Yes, but fill it up with gas...” So I grabbed some change from the old cookie jar... I went over to friendly Joanne’s house... Asked her if she wanted to go on a date... I said we were going to go watch submarine racing...  And that we wouldn’t stay out too late... She asked where were we really going... I responded “We’re going to The Point...” At that, Joanne smiled and said “Let’s go! It’s your submarine I’ve always wanted to anoint...” She asked me if I was fully prepared... Joanne had a devilish twinkle in her eye...  Even though we had never gone this far... I was going to give it the old high school try... We arrived just as the sun was setting... The sky was a beautiful orangish-red... I stuck in my Marvin Gaye 8-track... We had done this before, but only in my head... She suddenly leaned over towards me... And rubbed her fingers through my hair...  Then she kissed me like s...

  This Bud’s Broiler opened in 1956 at 500 City Park Avenue in New Orleans... it ain’t dere no mo... We use to go wit da family...  We took gramma, too...  Doze were da good ole days...  I remembaz dem, dayu?... Delicious charcoal-broiled burgas...  Chocolate shakes and plenty more...  Pay no attention, if you pleaze... To da grease dats on da floor... Come by for lunch.. Or a snack or dinna... When it comes to Bud’s Broila...  Everyone’s a winna... Orda by da numba... Add ya cold drink, too... Or if ya wanna shake... We’ll make it special just fayu... 1. Da Original Burga - Charcoal broiled hamburga patty and mayonnaise relish sauce. 2. Da Hickory Sauce Burga - Charcoal broiled hamburga patty and our own hickory smoked sauce. 3. Da Chedda Burga - Charcoal broiled hamburga patty, grated cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, and mustard. 4. Da Chili Burga - Charcoal broiled hamburga patty and grated Chedda cheese, topped wit chili. 5. Da Dressed Burga - Charcoal...

  It was a teenager’s rite of passage... Something akin to a spiritual sacrament... You didn’t have to grow up in New Orleans...  But if you were a teenager, you probably went... I’m talking about The Warehouse...  Which defined our music scene... You probably got high at The Warehouse...  And we both know what I mean... The list of bands who played there... During a spectacular twelve year run...  Gave a musical experience in New Orleans...  To the groovy generation second to none... It was at The Warehouse on Tchoupitoulas...  Where we enjoyed our musical buffet... If you saw these bands at The Warehouse...  You were experienced, what can we say... We saw the Grateful Dead... And The Allman Brothers Band...  Country Joe & The Fish... And of course Manfred Mann... It was certainly a time to remember...  Now tell us who you saw before...  The legendary Warehouse... Finally closed its infamous door... Grand Funk Railroad, Albert ...

  I remember my big brother… Had the coolest van in town... I was so proud to be his little bro… But he never wanted me around... He often went to the movies… Especially at the Do Drive In... While he sometimes took a new girl… There was one he took again and again... If the windows were sometimes foggy… And I couldn’t see inside... I knew to wait at the van’s rear door… Until the shakin would subside... Then out would come my brother... He would always light up a smoke...  He would tell me to skedaddle...  Around his van I should not poke... While I knew my brother was busy... I wasn’t really sure why it was so... But whenever a girl would leave his van...  Her face would always be aglow... When I finally turned sixteen... It was the Do Drive In where I would play...  That’s when I finally started to realize...  Why my big brother would always say... “If my van’s a’rockin’... Don’t come a’knockin’... If the van’s a’shakin’... It’s not popcorn we’re a’makin...

  It reached the movie screens in 1975...  Just in time for our summer vacation...  Jaws would scare the heck out of kids...  Spreading sheer panic across the nation... The kids were all getting eaten... The great white shark ate grownups, too...  Spielberg made the movie so dang real... It scared the apcra out of me and you... People were afraid to go to the ocean... Too worried by the shark based fear... Now, all the sandy beaches were empty... No one went swimming for nearly a year... Finally, they caught the man eater... They blew him up to bits and pieces... People slowly went back into the water... But let’s admit, our fear never really ceases... So, whenever you’re swimming in a pool... Or traveling by the Martha’s Vineyard Ferry... Just remember what the police chief said… “That’s some bad hat, Harry...” © 2022 Jeffrey Pipes Guice My Wonder Years: A Book

  The summer of 1975 was almost completely lost. One of my neighborhood friends’ family left for a two month vacation to Europe, and a few of the neighborhood kids decided to go and use the hidden key to watch television in the den. Before too long, we were drinking all the liquor in the father‘s liquor cabinet, and then we started cooking the steaks in the freezer, and then some girl started coming over, and then we eventually made it upstairs to the bedrooms, and then we found the keys to the father’s E-Type Jaguar, and on and on. Because I didn’t have a car of my own, this basically became my car to use for the summer. When the family finally came home, about fifteen of us, along with our fathers, were called in to a meeting and presented with a list of damages valued at $30,000. My friend’s father said that he could either call the police and file a report for breaking and entering, or he would accept a check for $2000 from each of the fifteen dads.  At that moment, all th...

  Valencia was a private club for private school teenagers. Conceived of and funded by local parents, it opened in 1948 and became an exclusive teen country club remembered fondly by its members.  At its peak in the early 1970s, roughly 1,200 teenagers belonged to Valencia. It featured an Olympic-size swimming pool, pool tables, tennis and basketball courts, a short-order snack bar, movie showings and music every weekend, with big dances on major holidays. Valencia was also a great place to go and look for girls who wanted a little more adventure or an interest in visiting The Fly... Sneaking out of Valencia... Driving up to The Fly... Drinking Miller ponies... Counting stars up in the sky... Valencia girls were always exciting... They were always ready to drink...  You had better have an eight pack... If you wanted to take her to the brink... After studying religion all week... Having her skirt measured by a nun... The weekends were the time to cut loose... Find a boy an...

  Some of my teachers tried to help me, but most gave up early on to focus on the “normal” kids. I was suspended twice for insubordination, which actually put me in jeopardy of being removed from most of my extracurricular activities.  I realized I could sell my Tofranil pills to one of the dopers in my Biology class and I continued to sink further into depression. I was now drinking on a regular basis. It was just part of what I did. On a bright school note, two favorite teachers that year were Mrs. Gladys Hughes for Speech and Mrs. Barbara Greenberg for English. I thoroughly enjoyed my classes with Mrs. Hughes. She was stern but kind, and she took an interest in the personal growth of her students. She had a knack for getting the most out of us. Mrs. Greenberg was my crush teacher for the year, and we really liked each other. We had a bunch of the football players in the class, and she did everything she could to make sure we all passed. Truth be told, I’m pretty sure she le...

  Another bright note of my sophomore year was that I continued to sell programs at Tulane Stadium and started sleeping Uptown at my friend Stephen Ehlinger‘s house.  Stephen introduced me some of the girls that attended Louise McGehee School. It was the year that the McGehee girls in our grade started having Sweet 16 parties, and I ended up getting invited to the parties because of my friendship with Stephen which, in turn, reopened the Uptown door for me, and the McGehee girls were indeed very cute. I remember thinking how cool and sophisticated Meg Alverson was because she drank scotch. I mean, no one drank scotch and she was so dang cool. But the problem was I couldn’t get Uptown as much as I wanted, so I stayed out in Metairie on the weekends in the Spring. I worked at a series of jobs, mostly retail sales at either Clearview or Lakeside shopping malls, to try to save money for a car, but I usually would spend it on drinking or buying clothes. From time to time I could ge...

  Back in 1975, from Fat City to the French Quarter, bar owners were packing in thirsty oglers with New Orleans’ latest craze -wet T-shirt contests. John McGuire, the owner of Pierre’s restaurant/bar in Fat City, was the brainchild behind the short lived fad. “All you need is a pitcher of water, a bunch of white cotton T-shirts and a covey of bra-less girls eager to match their natural endowments with other girls,” wrote AP journalist Ken Davis on November 19, 1975. For a high school kid, there was no better place to grow up than in New Orleans, especially back in 1975. Everyone had a fake ID and most bars in town didn’t really check them anyway. They came into the nightclub... After school, one Friday afternoon... Five beautiful young foxey ladies... Each one looking for a man to swoon... This posse knew what they wanted... And they each knew what they had... All ready to release their school spirit... On some unsuspecting young cad... They wanted someone to buy sweet drinks......

  She loves wieners... Never pays for a drink... She loves wieners... Always good for a little wink... Now, we all know what you’re thinkin’... Cuz dats where you’re mind goes... Just cuz you buy dem a drink... Don’t mean you’ll make it wit da hoes... She loves wieners... Never pays for a drink... She loves wieners... Always good for a little wink... Da girl’s got a sense of humor... And a personality, too... She’s got da boyz buyin’ drinks... Don’t mean she’s goin’ home witchu... She loves wieners... Never pays for a drink... She loves wieners... Always good for a little wink... She’s really kinda silly... When she bats her pretty eyes... All da boyz keep buyin’ her drinks... As she shared her favorite lies... She loves wieners... Never pays for a drink... She loves wieners... Always good for a little wink... So, stop spendin’ all your money... Unless you lookin’ a tease... She ain’t leavin witchu, man... Now get up off you knees... She loves wieners... Never pays for a drink... S...

  I started my sophomore year in the Fall and I was ready for my Tofranil again, mostly because my parents begged me to get back on it. Once again, I became a representative on the class council. I was also invited to join both Key Club and the social group Hi-Y, but I chose Hi-Y because of the girls. I got back to running the two mile race on the track team, and was elected secretary of Fellowship of Christian Athletes. I also attended my first Youth Legislature session at the State Capitol in Baton Rouge, attended my first Greater New Orleans Student Council Convention, and many Louisiana Association of Student Council workshops and Annual Convention.  I realized, in hindsight, that it was probably my extracurricular activities that kept me interested in school at all, because my grades continued to suffer, and I only got by because of my cheating. To be perfectly honest, at this point, I hadn’t read a school book or completed a homework as- signment in years, and I was comp...

  Play dat disco music, Mr. D.J... Is dat Charlie perfume you be wearin’...  Comb out dat curly white boy Afro...  It’s da party dance floor we be sharin’... Wear your favorite Vanderbilt jeans... Roll dem up and act real cool... Show your best moves from Soul Train... Nobody gonna judge for actin’ a fool... You know you really liked to disco... You know you miss wearin’ silk shirts... You know you really loved da 70s... When your legs looked foxy in mini skirts... Those days are now gone forever... When you stayed out dancin’ til dawn... Even though you say you can’t remember... The Polaroids will always live on... © 2022 Jeffrey Pipes Guice My Wonder Years: A Book

  That summer, in 1974, I got a job as a dishwasher at P.O.E.T.S. in Fat City, an area near Lakeside Shopping Center. Disco dancing was all the rage and discotheques were popping up all over Fat City. I altered my East Jefferson High School I.D. card to say I was 18 years old, the legal drinking age, even though I looked younger than my true 14 years, but I had attitude. We would wash dishes until 9:30PM, wash our faces off in the sink, change into a Lacoste alligator shirt (I never once bought a silk polyester shirt), and then go over to The Showboat, Act IV/Ski Lodge, Crystal Palace or The Godfather, wherever we could get in, and we would just watch the girls disco. Occasionally I would go out on the dance floor and try to “Bump” or “Hustle” dance with one of the older girls, you know, like a 19 or 20 year old, but they would just smile at me and dance away, but I did try. I kind of felt like a puppy trying to saddle up to a much larger, more mature girl dog. © 2022 Jeffrey Pipes...

  When it comes to solving problems... And you don’t think your Mom will understand... You need to find the best solutions... That’s right! Go ask your Grand! It was Grandma who smoked skinny cigarettes... Occasionally she even smoked pot... It was your Grandmother who used to punish your Mom...  Whether your Mom liked it or not... It was your Grandma who first wore bellbottoms... She wore mini skirts and burned her bra... It was Grandma who listened to The Rolling Stones...  Swam in Lake Pontchartrain in the raw... Look at the fashions you’re wearing today... It was your Mimi who taught you about style... She practically perfected your very look... I want you to think about that for a while... Now, when it comes to drinking... Staying out in da Quarters until 4:00am... Your Grandma could probably drink you under the table... And she’ll do it over and over again... So the next time you get yourself in trouble... And you know you’ve been acting the fool... Walk yourself ri...

  I grew listening to wonderful music... On a radio I shared with my little brother... Our favorite station was WTIX... One great song right after another... New Orleans was the home to great musicians... Playing jazz, southern rock or da blues... And that time Elvis played at Pontchartrain Beach... “Don’t step on my blue shade shoes...” One day, I saw an advertisement... Selling thirteen tapes for just $1.00... I asked my parents to invest in my new collection...  And that’s when they both began to holler... “But you get all the music for free...  Right on that there radio, sonny! So think before you ask us to waste... All of our hard earned money...” I decided to join the music club... Going against my parents’ wishes... To pay off the eventual $165.47 club bill... Every night, for two years, I had to wash the dishes... I thought I would be stuck forever... With this club membership and my sour grapes... But when my wife finally divorced me... She took my collection of ...

  I remember when I was fourteen... When Led Zeppelin came to town... They played at the Municipal Auditorium... And the tickets were hard to be found... I remember they played on a school night... The date was Monday, the 14th of May... NASA launched the SkyLab in the morning... Watched the launch at school, for most of the day... But everyone was more interested in Led Zeppelin... The girls were all crazy for Robert Plant... They screamed when he sang Whole Lotta Love...  And Stairway To Heaven was all the rant... My older sister had a front row ticket... My brother and his friends had tickets, as well... But my parents told me I couldn’t go... They said “Too many drugs for a young boy to smell... I demanded that my parents reconsider... I said “My friends’ parents were being cool...” I asked my older sister and brother for their support...  They just laughed and said “Stop being a fool!” I never got to see Jimmy Page experiment... Or see John Bonham power his drums... ...

  I remember back in the 70s... My big brother loved his album collection...  In fact, he was obsessed with his records...  As I delve further into my introspection... He kept them all in straight rows... In perfect alphabetical order... From Alice Cooper to ZZ Top... He bordered on being a hoarder... One day I decided to help him... To show him some real brotherly love... I decided to remove each album from its cover... And rub each one with a dusting glove... Somehow I forgot which of the records... Was suppose to go into which album cover... I mixed them all up and even scratched a few... He screamed “I’m going to kill you, you little mother...” He chased me around the kitchen table... He chased me up and down the stairs... He screamed “I’m going to beat your butt!” As I protected myself with one the dining room chairs... Finally, my dad put an end to the commotion... He told my brother to start locking his door... After spending a few days correcting my mistakes... My...

  In the Fall, 1973, I appeared in my one and only stage production, while in my freshman year at East Jefferson High School. I was sitting in the front of my first period Louisiana Civics class, taught by one of my favorite teachers named Hugh Smith, a wonderful teacher and friend of many students because of his open distrust for the Jefferson Parish School System and the East Jefferson High School administration, when Principal Harry T. Garland announced over the loud speaker that there would be tryouts for the upcoming school play. No one in class appeared to be very excited about it until Mr. Garland added that there would be girls from both Riverdale and Grace King High School auditioning as well.  I decided to tryout, raised my hand to get Mr. Smith’s permission to leave class and headed over to the auditorium.  I had never acted before, but I had been in the choir at Christian Brothers in 5th grade.  The play was a musical called Oliver! and I quickly realized...